A pair of must-read biographies

If you haven't read them already, this month would be a good time to start, especially if you're looking for holiday gift ideas.

A pair of sensational biographies — on Philadelphia sports icons Harry Kalas and Jerry Wolman — are both worth the read and worth stuffing in some Christmas Day socks.

First up is Harry the K (Running Press), in which Randy Miller of the Bucks County Courier Times regales us with story after story on how Kalas, the fun-loving son of a preacher, absolutely couldn't turn out any other way than the way he did.

Kalas (1936-2009) was born to become a sports broadcaster, and nothing short of a young death would prevent that from happening.

Fortunately for Phillies fans, he lived a full, rich, fascinating, if imperfect life -- most of it in Philadelphia as the lead announcer for the team's broadcast crew. Kalas' deep, passionate, resonating voice was the main link for most Phillies fans to the games played every day, especially in the days before cable television.

Even after pretty much all of the games became available in TV to everyone locally, many of us older, Baby Boomer farts sometimes found it more enjoyable to listen to Kalas on the radio.

This is a balanced presentation that covers the good, the bad and even the ugly that was Harry the K.

The good: His genuine warmth and friendliness and willing interaction with his adoring fans, not to mention his flat-out talent and the quality of his voice, which had him also working for everyone from Westwood One Radio to NFL Films.

The bad: Kalas wasn't exactly the most faithful husband in the world and he drank too much in his heyday, before finally settling down.

The ugly: He and broadcast partner Chris Wheeler had a bitter falling out over the perception that Wheeler tried to sandbag Kalas' best friend, color analyst and iconic former Phillie Richie Ashburn, before Ashburn's death in 1997.

Miller describes in his preface how he wrestled with the idea of not including some of the more negative aspects. But in the end he made the correct decision, because the good outweighs the bad and the ugly in every which way.

You'll see.

Wolman's book, The World's Richest Man (Heritage Special Edition, American Literary Press), chronicles the rise and fall of Wolman, who grew up in Shenandoah, Schuylkill County, where he dropped out of high school as a senior to help with his family's business after his father had suffered a stroke.

Wolman went from hitch-hiking his way from there all the way to Philadelphia and back for Eagles games to eventually buying the team in 1963 at age 36, when he was already worth $36 million as a real estate developer.

His generosity was legendary, from assorted random acts of kindness to calculated decisions as owner of the Eagles to instill harmony and stability in the organization by paying off the mortgages of his coaching staff or buying them homes outright.

A progressive, outside-the-box thinker, Wolman also founded the Flyers and the Spectrum and began construction on the 100-story John Hancock center in Chicago.

He also was the driving force in getting the financing together for the start of NFL Films, convincing the other league owners to chip in for what was sure to be a success.

His main failure as a businessman came from trusting business associate and former friend Ed Snider (yeah, that Ed Snider), who Wolman claims pulled the rug from underneath him when he needed financial help due to construction problems with the Hancock center.

Snider disputes what Wolman chronicles.

Nevertheless, Wolman was forced to sell the Flyers to Snider and the Eagles to Leonard Tose for $16 million, which at the time was a record price for an NFL franchise.

Already in bankruptcy at the time, Wolman didn't profit from the transaction at all.

Didn't matter. Wealthy or poor, Wolman was and remains, at age 83, the world's richest man. Money never changed him.